


2016

by TessMooreXF



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessMooreXF/pseuds/TessMooreXF
Summary: An ominous call in the middle of the night leads Mulder and Scully on the journey of a lifetime: back to the shadow government, back to the FBI, and back to their son.In other words, how I would have addressed the revival - this will be pretty lengthy, but I'll try to be quick about it (although, I fear you all know my track record...)





	1. Chapter 1

"That pitch was a joke, Scully, and you know it. You only give him a pass because he's a hot piece of ass." Mulder mumbles from his side of the bed. He can't see Scully, but he can feel her behind him. She's not spooning him, but their bed is small, and he can feel her knuckles and knees lightly touching his backside. The room is nearly pitch-black. It's post-game night: Game six of the World Series. It hadn't gone as he'd hoped, and it's that time of year when everything begins feeling as though it's coming to a close. It's somehow even darker in the middle of the night. Somehow more still, more silent. The window is cracked just a bit, but there's no breeze to satisfy Scully's overheated body. To compensate, she crooks a knee out of the comforter, and he can feel her rub against him, and he jokes, goading her for a response. "Don't try to make it up to me by taking advantage of me." 

"Whatever, Mulder. You're just bitter." She chuckles as she rearranges herself more. She doesn't sleep very comfortably these days. Mulder's noticed, but he doesn't mention. He's noticed she doesn't wake as early, and she longs for coffee even more than she had as a younger woman. He doesn't mention because he knows she's noticed that he only runs twice a week these days, and that he's careful not to kneel too long, or that he doesn't run up the stairs if he can help it. 

Mulder turns around in the midst of her resettling. In this position, they're arms to arms, like girlfriends at a slumber party, ready for whispered gossip or giddy sex talk. He wishes he has the energy for sex, but his belly is full, and he can feel the six pack he'd nursed through the night still warming him. There's no moonlight, so Scully's face is a darkened gray. He can't really make her eyes out from the shadows of her sockets, but he smiles at her nonetheless. "Truce?" 

Scully reaches to brush his bare shoulder, and he does the same with affection. She doesn't bother with silk pajamas these days. Years on the run taught her the virtues of sleep in underwear and tank tops, and Mulder is thankful every day. She may not be a 30 year old woman, but she's a special kind of bewitching in her wife beater, with a sliver of skin exposed between the hem and the lace edge of her underwear. He can't see her, but he can imagine it beneath the comforter. It's his favorite part of her, that slight dip where belly turns to hip, her skin nearly as white as her garments. "I'll allow it," she sighs back at him, but he can hear the smile in her voice. He can feel her breathing deepen, and her muscles slack as she finally finds comfort. 

Tomorrow, she'll start her work week at the hospital. It's been a difficult arrangement, but they decided together that she'd get a place closer to the hospital for while she's on call. It makes her work week simpler, and it makes the sex better when she finally comes home. Every now and then, he'll take the long drive over with lunch or dinner, and surprise her. The hospital staff still looks at him like a dirty bum, and he can hear them whispering about how they could possibly work. He doesn't have anyone to impress these days; least of all the holier-than-thou staff of Our Lady of Sorrows. He wishes Scully would leave the place behind her, but they keep her glued with offers of continuing education, shifting specialties, giving her nimble mind new work. Her life doesn't offer her the same challenges these days, and he can feel her restlessness. Meanwhile, he pretends to write a book he's pretty sure Scully knows doesn't exist. Who would read it, or care, or believe it? The days of intrigue around high conspiracy are long over, and the public lives in a different kind of fear. What to do now? 

He still feathers his nest, keeping tabs on sightings and odd phenomena. Every now and then, he sees a story like his own, and wishes he could pick up and fly to Nevada, or Arizona, or Oregon. That's not his life anymore, but every now and then he'll drive out into the Virginia forest with binoculars. He'll wait the night through, searching for any sign of movement in the sky, enjoying the twinkle of stars and the bright constellations staring back at him. He never could see the stars from his apartment in Arlington. Truth be told, he misses his apartment more than he enjoys the stars. Making a home isn't all it's cracked up to be. He spent four years discovering just how suffocating a single home could be. He remembers thinking about his mother disappearing under a cloud of Ativan all through his teenage years. He remembers suddenly understanding her in a way he'd never been able to. He remembers wishing he could call her and tell her he'd been far too hard on her. 

A furious vibration on the bedside table startles him out of his idle thoughts, and the blue light of his cell phone is blinding in the darkness. Mulder turns to find the phone, and his eyes squint in protest. The phone number is unknown, and Mulder doesn't typically answer unknown calls. It's 2:00 am, and the call seems insistent somehow. He accepts the call, but he doesn't speak, instead waiting with the phone pulled away from his mouth to avoid breath sounds. 

"Mulder?" He voice is rough and strained, but he'd know it anywhere. 

"Skinner?" Mulder whispers back, but it doesn't stop Scully from sitting up beside him. No doubt, the vibration had pulled her from sleep. He used to joke that she could sleep through the apocalypse. Not anymore. Either way, neither of them have spoken to Skinner since 2008, and he's gotten their attention. "What is it?" 

There's hesitation; a long drag of breathe. "I need to see you. I need to see you both." 

Mulder sighs and pulls himself into a sitting position. His mind is fighting to understand, and he drags an arm across his forehead to half-stretch and rub his eyes. "When?" 

"Now." Mulder hears the light hum of an engine in the background. Skinner's driving. "I'm crossing into Virginia now. I need you to meet me at a diner just off the 81 in Bristol. Jan's Diner." 

Mulder can't help but groan. "That's more than an hour away -- can't you pick us up on your way? We can discuss it here." 

"Mulder, if there was a way I could, I would. Some shit went down tonight, and believe me -- you're going to want to get on the road as soon as I fill you in. I was pursued on my way out of DC, so we're going to need to be quick about it. Get your ass in gear and get to Bristol. Pack for a few days." There's no click when a cell phone hangs up. Just a strange sort of silence, but with a hint of white noise. His cell phone hangs the call up for him. Scully's flicked on the light, and she's eagerly pulling jeans on over her pearl-white panties. 

"Did you hear that?" Mulder gathers his own pants and heads to the closet. 

Scully nods. "Most of it. What do you think he wants?" 

As a clean t-shirt billows over Mulder's head, he shrugs. "I have no clue. Skinner hasn't so much as sent a card in four years. Something must have spooked him." 

Scully pulls a duffel bag from beneath the bed, and beats the considerable dust from the top of it. He'd bought it for her before their beach trip after that last week they'd spoken with Skinner. It's bright, happy and vinyl -- Mulder had thought it was perfect for the blue ocean spray and the sun. It's a considerably happier bag than this October night requires, but Scully doesn't have the benefit of a ratty gym bag. She's throwing clothing into the bag at a fierce pace, and he forces himself into quicker action. 

"If Skinner's spooked then we better get moving, Spooky." As she zips the bag, she smirks and winks in his direction. She doesn't do it often - it's a different sort of affection from her. Her teasing is her way of telling him she respects him. He runs to the bathroom to brush his teeth before they head out into the frost and towards the Tennessee border. His stomach turns in anticipation. Perhaps he hadn't picked up and gone for a two-nighter to Oregon or Arizona any of those hundreds of nights because he's found himself so unexpectedly dreading of the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

The middle of Bristol rides the state line between Virginia and Tennessee, half of the town on either side of the line, and with a wire-backed sign pronouncing it "a good place to live". It's quaint and still mostly-dark; it's very early, even for breakfast, and few are out and about. The buildings appear historic, and well preserved, but Jan's Diner has seen better days. The building lies beside an overgrown, underused railroad crossing; It resembles an oversized silver bullet Airstream with cutout windows and an old red juke box visible from the lightly frosted glass door. Jan's may very well be the only joint open in town; Scully pulls her mid-sized silver sedan into the parking lot alongside a black Lincoln. Her finger taps the steering wheel frantically while she bites at her lip. Mulder watches her sleepily. Their paper coffee cups are empty, and it wasn't really enough to begin with. There's just the slightest tinge of blue in the sky, and Mulder regrets the lack of sleep -- they'll both pay for it dearly by the time they make it to a cozy bed. 

"What do you think he wants?" Scully almost whispers. Mulder can hear her anxiety. It had been a mostly silent ride, Scully not quite ready to share her thoughts. She almost sounds energetic, but he knows it's nothing more than a reflection of her heart beating heavily in her chest, quickening her breathing and involuntarily raising her brow. She looks to him with curiosity while she flings the seatbelt off of her, but she doesn't exit the car. 

Mulder shakes his head. "I have no idea; But, I can tell you that Skinner is our friend... he wouldn't have asked us out here for nothing." 

Scully nods. "That's what scares me, Mulder."

She reaches to unlatch the door beside her, but Mulder stops her with a gentle tap to a collar bone. "Hey." His hand slides up to her neck, gently urging her to look at him. "Whatever it is, it'll be fine. We will be fine." 

Scully doesn't nod, and she can't quite bring her heart rate back down. She feels like chewing her nails, and she remembers her mother dipping her hands in vinegar to stop her as a child. She opens the door with her left hand and shoves her idle hand into a jean pocket. Mulder exits and comes around to join her, so they can walk to the door in solidarity. From outside the door, they can see Skinner tucked into a booth in the corner, facing the door. No doubt, he was purposeful in his choice. The man is dressed in black, a nondescript ball cap pulled over his now-shaven scalp. His salt-and-pepper beard is attractive, though his wild eyes find them at the door immediately. He appears nervous, hunched over his formica booth and throttling a cheap cup of coffee. 

The carpet in the run down diner is filthy, so Scully purposefully looks up from it as she and Mulder make their way to Skinner's booth. They sit silently, catching the eye of a single waitress over the pages of her paperback novel. She approaches immediately with mugs and coffee, but Skinner waves her aside after she's finished pouring. She says nothing, only eager to return to whatever adventure in which her book has enraptured her. 

"It's good to see you two". Skinner speaks very quietly, but he means his words well. He hasn't seen Mulder or Scully in years. In their rumpled jeans and sweaters and messy midnight hair, they appear healthy, if not almost happy. "I'm sorry to call you out in the middle of the night." 

Mulder nods while Scully leans on her elbows, propped on the table. Her scrutiny is silent and nearly uncomfortable; Skinner can see the anxiety in her eyes, and he sighs heavily. "I won't waste your time. We need to get moving immediately. Earlier this evening, an attempt was made on me at my apartment." 

Scully cocks her head. "What kind of attempt?" 

"Two men, masked, assaulted me at my home." Skinner lifts his ball cap to reveal a large welt across the top of his head, rounding to his temple. "They were laying in wait, and had ransacked my apartment. They had one request."

"What? And how did you escape?" Mulder struggles to keep his voice low. 

"They want William." Skinner sees Scully deflate, and he knows she must have suspected. He regrets his words immediately as he sees her eyes begin to tear. She clears her throat and swallows the fleeting emotion, though. "I just got up and ran; No one ever expects someone to just run like a bat out of hell. I made it a few miles, where I finally felt secure enough to catch a cab to a rental agency. The Lincoln is a rental." 

"What do they want with him?" Scully askes quietly, but she knows Skinner has no answers for her. 

"I can only imagine. But I doubt it'll take long for them to pinpoint him, and we cannot afford to let them find him first." Skinner pulls out a small notepad from the inner pocket of his overpriced bomber jacket. He flips open the notebook before passing it to Scully. "It's everything I know about him. I'll go with you." 

Mulder bends slightly over Scully as he attempts to read the notebook along with her. He sputters, "He's in Tennessee? He's been this close all these years?" Mulder's tone is full of wonder, and his voice breaks around his words. 

Skinner nods, "Yes". He moves to extricate himself from the booth, and he can feel his hip bones cracking at the movement. He speaks while he fumbles enough singles out of his pocket to cover the coffee and a tip. "We need to find somewhere to hide your car. We can't be sure you haven't been followed, so it needs to be remote. Next opportunity, we'll trade out the rental car." 

Mulder and Scully remain seated in the booth, individually struggling with personal emotion and shock. They do manage to scramble to their feet, but work hard to find words.

Finally, Scully speaks while she stands, allowing Mulder to trail her out of their side of the booth. "Why now? What do we do when we find him?" 

"Again, I have no idea. And I think we should focus on finding him first, before there's nothing left to be found." 

The three quiet, suspicious looking, middle-aged folks exit the diner while the waitress silently watches. She can see a somewhat generous tip awaiting her on the table. She's never been one to meddle, but clandestine, early morning meetings aren't exactly a common occurrence in Bristol. She's been reading a spy novel about terrorists who pose as small-time drug dealers and rural residents, and she jots down some notes on their appeareance... Never know when that kind of thing might come in handy.


End file.
